


Paradoxical Paradise

by Calacious



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Alternative Universe - Shipwrecked, Angst, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-10-25
Updated: 2009-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4593744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the brink of death, Jason and Spinelli are lost at sea. With only each other and dwindling supplies to rely upon, what will happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Merciless Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suerum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suerum/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters portrayed in this work of fiction. They are the sole creative property of the creators and writers of "General Hospital".
> 
> A/N: For information on CPR classes in your area, contact your local Red Cross or hospital. There are also numerous on-line sources with information on how to perform life saving CPR, though you really should be properly trained. Those last resources should be utilized only under emergent conditions as nothing can substitute for the experience and practice gained from hands-on training. Though it is far better to do something than nothing.
> 
> Hoping that archiving this will bring the writing bug back...

Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner

_Part II_

(Halfway through)

_Day after day, day after day,_  
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;  
As idle as a painted ship  
Upon a painted ocean.

_Water, water, everywhere,_  
And all the boards did shrink;  
Water, water, everywhere,  
Nor any drop to drink.

_The very deep did rot: O Christ!_  
That ever this should be!  


_Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs  
Upon the slimy sea. _

_About, about, in reel and rout_  
The death-fires danced at night;  
The water, like a witch's oils,  
Burnt green, and blue and white. 

_And some in dreams assured were_  
Of the spirit that plagued us so:  
Nine fathom deep he had followed us  
From the land of mist and snow. 

_And every tongue, through utter drought,_  
Was withered at the root;  
We could not speak, no more than if  
We had been choked with soot. 

* * *

Chapter 1: Merciless Sun

"Our mortality is a borrowed thing." – Susan R.

* * *

The sun was merciless as it beat down on Jason's parched, exposed skin. He was thirsty, god was he thirsty. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and he knew that the sun, in its constant glare, had caused his skin to blister. The pain had long since become unbearable to the point where he no longer felt anything save for a numbness which ached in his very bones. _Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink,_ he mused as his eyes roamed the endless ocean surrounding him. The dry, humorless chuckle never left his throat.

He sat with his back propped up against the edge of the lifeboat he had managed to procure as the ship started to sink. Spinelli's head was in his lap, his body twisted painfully in on itself as nausea once again wracked his thin frame. Jason wished there was something he could do for the young man, but it was taking all of his waning strength to stay upright and keep his eyes open, he had nothing left to expend on the other man's behalf.

For some reason he had it drilled into his head that as long as he kept his eyes open and on the never-ending blue horizon all would be well, they would be safe and would find land or be rescued though no one in Port Charles had any reason to believe they had survived the pirate attack. If for some reason he closed his eyes…he shuddered at the very thought, picturing Spinelli and himself as little more than desiccated skeletons with their skin, thick as leather clinging to their lifeless bones.

Early in his work for Sonny Corinthos, Jason had learned that life was fleeting. He lived life on the edge and got off on it, at first. Later, he simply got used to the danger, to the idea that his life could be taken from him at a moment's notice. But, here, exposed to the unsympathetic sun, water stretching as far as he could see, and Spinelli sprawled out at the bottom of the Lilliputian lifeboat – he realized just how insignificant his life was in the grand scheme of things. How it could all be swept away in the blink of an eye.

So, he kept his eyes open and clung to what little hope he had left. As long as Spinelli kept breathing, as long as their limited supply of water lasted, as long as he kept his eyes open everything would be okay. A far cry from the adrenaline-rich life had lived up until two days ago, but it was what he had left and he would cling tenaciously to it.

Spinelli had long since lost the will to live. The sun, brutal albatross of the sky, weighed down upon him, making the slightest movement – the mere lifting of a finger – impossibly difficult to manage. It hurt to breathe the salt air through his sun-scorched lips. Would it be like this forever, that even his most basic bodily functions would have to come under his conscious control in order for him to go on existing?

He willed his lungs to cease their senseless ministrations. It would be pointless to exist much longer, the water, what little water they had, would soon be gone and he was unable to keep any of it down. He could do this one thing for his mentor, this one last thing; secure his life by forfeiting his own.

Thirst is a word that means: dryness to your mouth, the prompting that one ought to replenish one's fluids. It was no relative to the all-consuming, cramping, and debilitating sensation which currently consumed Spinelli's very existence. It burned. His throat was raw and his skin red. He was being cooked from the inside out and it hurt like hell. He knew he was going to die, it was just a matter of how long the sun, his own body, and the other elements planned to torture him before letting him slip into blessed darkness.

The truly awful, incredibly unfair aspect of the whole experience was that he was still seasick. He had been for the whole trip, but the edge had been taken off by the anti-nausea medicines he had consumed like candy. Here though, it was just him, his faulty inner ear and the ceaseless swelling ocean so much more magnified when one was lying inches rather than feet removed from it. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't. Dying from thirst, dying from the vicissitudes of the sun's action-that he could accept, but dying from seasickness, that was just undignified, not to mention incredibly painful as his body mustered the strength to dry heave once more.

Though it registered somewhere at the back of his mind that Jason was with him, that it was his 'Master' who had rescued him from the gunfire and the eventual sinking of the captured cargo ship, he felt alone in his agony. His life was reduced to the simple, mundane task of breathing. If only he had courage enough to discontinue it. Giving into his despair as another painful pang assaulted his stomach, he held his breath and simply stopped breathing.

Jason sensed a change in Spinelli and tore his eyes from the horizon to the contorted face of the young man whose body was once again mounting a rebellion. It wasn't that which had drawn his attention away from his silent vigil. It took a moment for Jason to understand just what was different about the state of his charge and when he realized what had changed, that the boy was no longer breathing, panic lent him a strength the sun, in its mockery, had previously sapped from him.

Lifting the much too still form of Spinelli into a sitting position so that the boy's head was crushed to his chest, he started gently shaking him, willing him to breathe.

"Don't you dare die on me," he whispered hoarsely into Spinelli's ear. His throat pinched as the words forced their way out through the constricted airway and all but died on his burnt lips. He moved as quickly as his stiffened limbs would allow him to and, noting as afterthought how much weight the boy had lost on their two week journey to South America, he placed Spinelli once again on the bottom of the boat and knelt next to him.

Shaking with panic and dread, he placed two fingers on Spinelli's neck and allowed himself a brief sigh of relief. Spinelli's heart was still beating, albeit much too erratically. He would not quibble over such small matters. The ill-beating heart was the only thing keeping his friend alive at the moment. He would not offend the working organ even in thought lest it take its revenge on his faithful friend.

Tilting Spinelli's head back against the wooden planks to open the boy's airway, he pinched the boy's nose and placed his mouth securely over Spinelli's. He pushed two second long breaths into the slack mouth and watched the inanimate chest slowly rise before it once again fell as the shared air escaped. He waited a heartbeat, then two. Cursing, he took a deep breath and once again poured oxygen into the young man's uncooperative lungs.

He leaned back and watched as the chest rose and then fell. This time he waited three heartbeats, watching Spinelli's chest as he had been watching the horizon moments before. The chest remained still, taunting him as the empty horizon had.

"Spinelli!" Jason's face twisted in rage, "Breathe!" He filled his lungs with the fetid ocean air and expelled their contents into Spinelli's idle lungs. Terrified, he once again pressed his fingers to Spinelli's neck and felt for a pulse.

The ocean, sensing the direness of Spinelli's situation, ceased her rocking. She became as still as the non-breathing occupant in the lifeboat upon her glassy surface. The air, reduced to a stagnant whisper, held its breath in anxious anticipation. Time itself stopped and sluggishly returned as Jason's bloodless fingers registered the faint murmuring of Spinelli's heart.

Jason, filled with fury, pounded a fist into Spinelli's chest, "Breathe! That's an order god damn it!" Spinelli had never been reluctant to follow any of his orders in the past; Jason couldn't understand why his self-proclaimed grasshopper would choose this moment to start on a mutinous course.

"Don't you die…" his voice cracked. Tears wanted to come, but Jason's body had long since been tapped dry by the punishing sun and he sobbed tearless as he took a shuddering breath into his burning lungs and once again plied his mouth to Spinelli's. Expelling the hard won air into Spinelli's mouth he waited, counting tersely to three before once again breathing into the lungs hell-bent on being pertinacious in their refusal to secure oxygen of their own.

Jason gave himself over to the rhythmic routine as he continued breathing for Spinelli. His life was reduced to breathing in the brackish air surrounding him, expelling it into Spinelli's stubborn lungs, monitoring the lingering heartbeat, and resuming the sequence. The sun, ever present overseer, continued to beat down on them as Jason labored. His shadow moved clockwise as he worked and still the sun persisted, in its wrath, to bleed him of energy as it scorched his already damaged skin. Jason refused to give in, even as he began to falter.

If Spinelli died, he would soon follow after; he was not going to lose the young man who had suddenly become his world. There was no one else left. It was just the two of them, the sun, and the endless ocean and Jason refused to be left alone with the overbearing sun and the wayward ocean. No, if Spinelli's lungs insisted on being obstinate, he would close his eyes and let the cruel sun claim him.

Time no longer existed. How long had he been breathing for Spinelli? Jason was amazed that the boy's heart continued its service, pumping blood through the young man's veins, though he shouldn't have been. It was, after all, Spinelli's strongest instrument. His ability to love was unsurpassed by any other person Jason knew. Spinelli loved unconditionally. He loved the unlovable and the undeserving without reservation. Jason often wondered why Spinelli stayed with him, even when he had been unkind to him, and knew that it could all be attributed to Spinelli's unstoppable heart. He prayed that it would not fail him now.

He prayed that it would continue to serve, not just Spinelli, but also his mentor. Jason refused to think of himself as the young man's master though Spinelli often called him that. If he truly were his master, Spinelli would have long ago begun to breathe on his own; he would not have let Jason's pleas fall on deaf ears.

"C'mon Spinelli," he begged. His strength was nearly depleted. He took another shaky breath into his aching lungs and surrendered it to the young man watching as the chest rose and fell. Jason swayed once, his eyes drooped and he collapsed next to Spinelli.


	2. Pirate Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best laid plans and all that rot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time flashes backward and forward in this chapter.

From Gilbert and Sullivan's Opera, "The Pirates of Penzance" Act II

(Pirates)

With cat-like tread,  
Upon our prey we steal;  
In silence dread,  
Our cautious way we feel.  
No sound at all,  
We never speak a word,  
A fly's foot-fall  
Would be distinctly heard –

Pirate Attack

"A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic." – Joseph Stalin

A week and a half ago:

At first he had marveled at the Titanic-like lifeboat Jason had discovered hanging over the edge of the ship and, though bullets were flying and the pirates were felling ship workers left and right, Spinelli had been unable to keep himself from spouting off facts related to the doomed ship. Even as Jason shoved him into the thirty-foot long wooden craft, Spinelli was exclaiming how everyone could have been saved yet so few were because they hadn't filled the boats to capacity. He was speaking so fast, but the alternative, thinking, was unacceptable, actually inadvisable at the moment. Thinking would threaten to tear him apart and Jason needed him.

He turned to his mentor as Jason lowered himself into the boat and loosened the ropes from the ship; a look of despair twisted his face as he thought of leaving so many others behind. He attempted to stop Jason, knowing that more could yet fit into the craft, but Jason pushed him back and he fell gracelessly to the bottom of the wooden sea craft.

Wincing in pain, he rubbed at his lower back and scowled up at his mentor who was not looking at him. Jason was instead standing between Spinelli and the ship, his gun held menacingly before him as their life craft plummeted toward the dark waters below. Jason managed to keep on his feet by sheer force of will as the life boat made contact with the ocean and rocked precariously in the rollicking waves. Only when he was assured that no one had followed their descent did he lower himself to a seated position.

"Spinelli, grab the oars and start rowing," he ordered in clipped tones. Spinelli was spurred to action and immediately obeyed his 'master'. Jason kept an alert eye on the slowly sinking ship as Spinelli struggled to row away from it. Adrenaline gave him an added burst of strength and, before he knew it, they were well away from the decimated ship which was now crawling with the pirates that had attacked and set fire to it.

* * *

Everything had happened so quickly. One minute Spinelli was sleeping peacefully on a bunk below decks and the next, Jason was pulling him from sleep, thrusting a weapon into his hand and acrid smoke was burning his nostrils, filling his lungs. Bewildered, he had followed Jason, keeping a hand on his mentor, holding the weapon with an uncertainty borne of unfamiliarity.

Jason had always limited his contact with guns, Spinelli was more than a little alarmed, even in his foggy sleep-deprived state, that Jason had handed his uncoordinated grasshopper a weapon at all. The situation unfolding must be dire indeed if the Jackal had been afforded his own protective armament.

The last time he had aspired to fire a weapon, he had shot himself in the, not even proverbial, foot. The memory sent a wave of embarrassment through him and had he struggled to wake himself up from the inebriated half-sleep state he was currently trailing Jason in. Whatever it was that had put Stone Cold in such an amplified state of action, Spinelli was determined not to humiliate himself or his mentor by doing something as asinine as shooting himself in the foot or, far worse, shooting his mentor.

Shaking himself from his ruminations, Spinelli struggled to stay with Jason. He still had no idea what was happening and couldn't seem to find his voice. The billowing smoke made it difficult for him to breathe and he choked on it. His eyes burned, and he blinked away tears. He couldn't see much of anything.

He was clad only in his sleep wear, sweats and a white tee-shirt. He wasn't even wearing socks, let alone shoes. He had never been nimble on his feet and, in his current sleep-deprived condition, he was even less so. He stumbled into Jason and stubbed his toe on the first step that would lead them to the surface of the ship.

"Spinelli, watch your step!" Jason hadn't even spared a glance back at his roommate as he climbed the hot metal staircase. He was wearing his boots, apparently he hadn't gone to sleep or perhaps he simply slept with them on for the entirety of their trip to South America. Spinelli's bare feet were getting scorched. He hopped from foot-to-foot behind Jason, willing the man to ascend the stairs at a faster pace.

The pain was forcing him to finally come fully awake and he wasn't sure that was such a good thing as he began to take stock of the situation. He was on a burning ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, Stone Cold was armed, he was armed, and over the din and roar of the fire, he could hear screams and shouts.

He tried to remember just how he had ended up on the ship in the first place. There had been some trouble with Sonny's coffee suppliers and he had asked Jason to look into it and 'settle it' by whatever means necessary. Jason had asked Spinelli to come along and check out their computer systems. They had flown down to Venezuela, but after a talk with mob connections there, Jason discovered that the real cargo discrepancy took place on the ocean. The freighter left for the eleven day trek across the Caribbean Sea and Atlantic Ocean from Venezuela with the entire cargo, but arrived in Florida significantly lighter.

Jason suspected that there was some sort of levy being taken by sea and that some of the ship's crew might be in on it. Though he had encouraged Spinelli to return to Port Charles via airplane, Spinelli opted to join him for what he had, at the time, dubbed a seafaring adventure. He thought it would be fun and exciting. One day into the journey and he was curled up below decks, puking his guts up, he'd never felt so miserable in his life.

If it hadn't been for Jacques, Spinelli would have been waylaid the entire trip. Jacques was a slight youth with blonde hair bleached white and fair skin long since permanently browned by his continuous exposure to the elements and the sun. His light blue eyes had shone bright with compassion at Spinelli's plight, and, in limited English he had communicated with Jason that he had something to make Spinelli's stomach, "…better behaved."

He'd come back to the cabin with a container filled with small white pills and a glass of water. Pushing Jason out of the way, which was a rather impressive accomplishment in and of itself, not to mention dangerous, he palmed two of the pills and shoved them unceremoniously into Spinelli's mouth. He coaxed the soothing water down his throat and then sat with Spinelli until the worst of the nausea was over and he could once again lift his head without being overwhelmed with dizziness.

The little white pills were a true godsend. Without them Spinelli would never have been able to explore above deck with the Jacques and Jason. He would have missed out on seeing the family of dolphins playing and leaping in the ocean alongside the ship. He would never have felt the sea breeze against his cheek, never have felt the caress of the sun on his skin. He would have been incarcerated below decks for the entirety of the expedition.

It was on a clear starry night three days into their voyage that Spinelli had noted something was off and had retrieved his computer from below decks to check a star map with the pattern of stars he saw in the sky. He was sure they were off-course and had gone immediately to Jason with the information, but his worries had been brushed aside with an explanation from the captain that the route had been changed to avoid potential rough waters. Spinelli felt in his gut that something was wrong, but didn't press the issue.

He had taken a look at the navigational star maps in the ship's helm and talked at length with the helmsman about the direction the ship was headed and how to read the map. In the end Jacques had been reassigned from his normal duties on deck to keeping Spinelli busy and out of the hair of the rest of the crew. A job which he seemed to take to with zest. The two were an inseparable pair.

Spinelli wondered idly where Jacques was as he and Jason stepped above deck. His eyes searched frantically for those of his friend amidst the chaos that greeted him amidships. Black smoke curled magnificently in the cool light of the moon, gun muzzles flashed bright orange sparks as bullets flew out of them, and seamen were running pell-mell in every direction.

Spinelli's bare feet were tender and blistered as he walked on the wooden floor of the deck. Splinters wormed their way into his feet as he virtually flew along guided by Jason. Still, his eyes searched for those of Jacques. Spinelli crashed into his mentor when the man abruptly stopped walking and he fell backward, landing on something soft and warm, slick to the touch.

Impulsively, he looked down and, to his horror stared into vacant blue eyes that, even in death, were the color of the sky on a cloudless day. He stopped breathing, his heart stopped beating, the world tilted and then righted itself once more as Jason yanked him to his feet. He fought for air, blinked in the inky night and the pandemonium that surrounded him and regained his bearings when Jason slapped him sharply across the face.

"Spinelli!" Though he regretted having slapping the younger man, Jason knew that unless he and Spinelli kept their heads and kept moving, they too would end up dead at the hands of the pirates which had boarded the ship shortly after two in the morning.

* * *

He had been restless. Unable to sleep, he wandered above deck and lay out under the stars. Voices, harsh and quiet floated to him in the night air just as he felt himself drifting off to sleep. Instantly alert, he readied his gun and, keeping out of their line of vision, approached the owners of the voices. He recognized the captain, helmsman, and boatswain, but there were a host of other men he did not recognize.

"We pay the tariff like always, but the man who gets the cargo in the states," the captain was speaking, "he gets suspicious and looks into it. He send two spies on board our ship. Ask me, I think these two men of more value than what payment you receive. Right now, they sleeping. I give them you, you leave ship." The captain made animated gesticulations as he spoke.

"No, here's what's going to happen," a man with a patch on one of his eyes jabbed an index finger into the captain's chest. "We are commandeering this ship. Ours has seen better days, we need a new vessel and this one looks seaworthy." _What the hell?_ Jason inched away from the scene, he had to get Spinelli away from the ship before someone dragged him from bed and took him as a hostage.

Before he made it far, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot cut through the still night and Jason's eyes snapped to where the captain had been arguing with the strangers. The captain fell with a soft, _thud,_ to the wooden deck and the helmsman and boatswain soon followed. Soon the rest of the crew above deck had awakened and all sense of order was lost. A lantern fell to the deck and a small fire broke out.

Jason stood and ran to retrieve his roommate, knowing that there was little he could do to save Sonny's cargo and the ship. He could, however, save Spinelli. There were six lifeboats attached to the ship and he was going to get Spinelli and himself, possibly Jacques, if he could find the young man in time, aboard one of them and to safety.

He ran against the tide of the alerted ship's crew, unable to distinguish one from the next. Shots rang out around him, but he ran on, heedless of the danger to himself, thinking only of getting Spinelli and getting the hell out of Dodge. "Jacques!" He called out to the young man, delighted to have found him only to look on in horror as the kid's eyes widened in disbelief before he crumpled lifeless to the deck.

Taking careful aim, Jason sent a bullet into the skull of the man who had shot Jacques. He sidled up to the youth and felt frantically for a pulse. Finding none, he cursed silently to himself and made his way to the cabin he and Spinelli had shared. The vision of Jacques fresh in his mind, Jason shook Spinelli roughly and pressed a gun into his hand. Not waiting for him to wake, he led the way up the stairs and onto the deck. Though he wished that he could have steered Spinelli in a different direction, so that he would not have to come across the dead body of his friend, he had no other choice and just hoped that Spinelli would not be plagued by the vision of the dead man.

* * *

"Stone Cold!" Spinelli stepped in front of Jason and, without thought, let alone taking aim, brought his gun up and pulled the trigger, felling a lone gunman who had Jason in his sights. Momentarily stunned at the fact that, no only had he fired his weapon properly, but he had actually managed to hit what it was he had wanted to hit, Spinelli's mouth hung open and he gaped down at the blossoming red stain that was bubbling out of the man's chest.

Locking eyes with the man he had shot, Spinelli swallowed back the bile that began to burn in his throat. The man's eyes seemed to beg him for help. His mouth opened and closed in a silent plea for help, but no sound came from his paling lips. Spinelli couldn't tear himself away, he knelt next to the dying man, unsure of how best to help him, he dropped the gun and he tore his tee-shirt off in haste. Hands shaking, he pressed the tee-shirt to the growing mass of red pouring from the wound he had made in the man's chest and rocked back and forth on his heels.

"I'm sorry," his voice hitched and tears ran down his cheeks. The man's eyes looked around wildly before locking once again with Spinelli's as Jason tore him away. Spinelli twisted around in Jason's arms, trying to return to the dying man, but Jason's grip was inexorable as he wended their way through the tumultuous throng.

"There's nothing you can do for him," Jason hissed in his ear as he kept them moving. "You did what you had to do Spinelli, I wouldn't be alive if you hadn't shot him, you wouldn't be alive. Here's what we're gonna do: we're gonna get our asses on a lifeboat and we are gonna survive." He knew that he was being harsh, but knew that if Spinelli didn't snap out of his current state of panic, their chances of survival would be slim. "Where the hell is a lifeboat when you need one?" Jason ground out, not really expecting an answer.

Spinelli pointed to a spot just ahead and Jason hurried over to it. Lowering a babbling Spinelli into the smaller craft, he jumped in and loosed the ropes mooring them to the ship, praying that they wouldn't be seen by any of the men running on the deck above. He'd barked out orders for Spinelli to row just to give him something to do and keep his mind off of having seen one of his friends dead and then taking another man's life.

Spinelli's muscles ached as he put his full effort into rowing away from the burning ship. He had been at the mind numbing, muscle straining chore for what felt like hours and still, he could see the hull of the ship, bright with the orange flames of fire licking at it. It looked ghostly in the light of the moon.

"Here, let me row for awhile," Jason pried the oars from Spinelli's stiff fingers, "why don't you rest for a bit?"

"Stone Cold…" Spinelli's protest was cut off by a glare from his mentor. "Fine, I'll spell you in an hour's time. Have you taken inventory of our lifesaving vessel?" Jason answered with a shake of his head and Spinelli bent to the task of inventorying their supplies.

"Hmmm…in spite of appearing maudlin and outdated, the Fair Lady seems to have maintained a good stock aboard her lifeboats," Spinelli smiled in the darkness as he ticked off the supplies he had discovered hidden beneath moveable panels.

"Manual reverse osmosis desalinator, that will be useful for converting saltwater to something more drinkable," he explained, "five gallons of fresh water, must be the estimate of what is needed before civilization is reached," he murmured almost to himself, "individual food packets, enough for both of us to live off of for at least two weeks," he looked over at Jason who grunted noncommittally , "a fishing kit, signaling mirror, rocket and smoke flares, flashlight, spare sea anchor, first aid kit, spare batteries and bulbs, these could come in real handy, and aluminized Mylar sheets, ooh, 'Space Blankets' to aid in caring for victims of hypothermia. Looks like we have a modern stash here."

"You should probably clean up and get some rest." Jason's head was reeling with the information he couldn't even begin to process. Spinelli's hands and chest were caked in dried blood and it appeared even more ghastly in the light of the moon.

Reaching over the edge of the boat, Spinelli rinsed his bloody hands in the ocean and then scrubbed at his chest. He wished he could immerse himself fully in the dark blue depths. He felt dirty and tired and lost. He sat and leaned back against the hull of the tiny craft. The adrenaline rush that had helped fuel his escape from the ship had worn off and Spinelli's eyes drooped, his body sagged, and he gave in to the overwhelming desire to sleep.

Jason let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as Spinelli's eyes closed. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the bizarre events which had unfolded on what had started out as a peaceful evening. He needed to keep moving, needed the steady rhythm of rowing to help clear his mind. Spinelli had counted off the list of supplies in a positive manner which meant that they would probably have more than enough to keep them alive until rescue arrived. _Shit, that is_ _ **if**_ _rescue arrived, had an S.O.S. even been sent?_

The stark reality of their situation, floating somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean or in the Caribbean Sea with no one looking for them, hit him like a fist to the gut. Maybe they would make it to an island; the Caribbean was full of islands, so was the Atlantic. Jason increased his speed, even though he knew that it would not do much good. It was impossible to see anything in the dark and they hadn't seen land since they left Venezuela. He slowed his pace, keeping up a steady rhythm as Spinelli slept.


	3. Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everything is as it seems.

A Dream within a Dream

_By Edgar Alan Poe_

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,  
Thus much let me avow-  
You are not wrong who deem  
That my days have been a dream;  
Yet if hope has flown away  
In a night, or in a day,  
In a vision, or in none,  
Is it therefore the less gone?  
All that we see or seem  
Is but a dream within a dream.

* * *

**Mirage**

"Dreams that do come true can be as unsettling as those that don't."

– Brett Buttler _Knee Deep in Paradise_

The ocean offered no break from the monotony as Jason continued to row. Though Spinelli had promised to spell him in an hour, Jason had let the younger man sleep, knowing that if he awoke he'd have to deal with his incessant chatter and not sure he could handle it at the moment. He felt bad for that thought and the thoughts that followed, but refused to dwell on them. He was stuck on a life craft in the middle of the ocean with Spinelli. He couldn't recall if Spinelli had mentioned anything about a radio in his listing of what the life boat held. He highly doubted that an S.O.S. had been sent and that meant that there would be no rescue.

They would have to plot their own rescue and he worried that, when Spinelli woke, he would have to deal, not only with his own growing sense of panic and dread, but also that of his friend. He was plum exhausted and did not have the reserves to deal with much more than his own worries, so he let Spinelli sleep and rowed because that offered him a sense, albeit a small petering sense, of peace and the illusion of control.

As long as he continued to row, he could pretend to be in control of the situation which had ceased to be under his control when he heard the first gunshot echo in the night. He lost all track of time as he rowed, and took little notice as the sky began to dawn pink, rending itself from the all consuming darkness in which it had bled into the ocean, making it now possible to distinguish one from the other.

Exhaustion did not slow him down, or at least that is the sanity-saving lie his mind told him, even though the muscles in his arms began to cramp and the pace had long ago tapered down to little more than ceasing to move backwards and yet not making much ground in the unending mass of blue. Even as his perfect posture now resembled that of a stiff hunchback, he continued to row, not willing to give into his body's betraying desire to rest.

* * *

Spinelli cracked an eyelid open. He was in an extremely uncomfortable position and couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten himself into it. He felt cramped and stiff and his body ached everywhere. He wasn't quite sure that he wanted to be awake just yet, but for some reason there was a bright light beaming down on him requesting his wakefulness and he was begrudgingly granting its wish.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he attempted to sit up, but for some reason his body refused to cooperate and a sharp pain exploded behind his eyes, distorting his vision. Confusion and fear comingled and he drew jagged breaths of air into his lungs much too rapidly. Completely blinded now by bright red and black spots that danced across his vision, he struggled to breathe.

The last thing he remembered was going to sleep in his bunk of the cabin he shared with Jason. His mind could not fathom why bright light would be shining in his eyes or how his body had ended up so twisted and sore on a hard, unforgiving surface. _Perhaps I fell out of the bunk during a maelstrom…where's Stone Cold? What the hell is that blinding light and why doesn't someone take it away?_

"Argh," _so much for eloquence_ , Spinelli thought as the whimpered groan escaped his parched lips. He hoped his mentor was not in the vicinity even as he wished for him to come to his rescue. _You are not some damned damsel in distress in need of rescue from some shining white knight;_ he remonstrated and attempted to right himself once more only to be blasted again by a sharp, penetrating pain at the base of his skull.

"Spinelli?" Jason had been watching his roommate come to wakefulness with a rueful smirk. The way Spinelli's eyes had fluttered and his hands had risen as though to bat away the sun had roused a chuckle from him. The chuckle, however, died in his throat at the first sign of distress and Jason, forgetting about everything else, scrambled over to the struggling young man.

Assessing the situation with a heart clenching alarm, he discovered that Spinelli's neck was twisted at an abnormal angle and his limbs were at odds with the rest of his body, making it damn near impossible for him to sit up on his own. Freeing the young man's legs from their tangled mess, he carefully resituated his neck and got a fist to the eye for his efforts. Falling back on his heels, he grasped Spinelli's flailing arms and pulled him upward, gently turning him around so that he supported the young man's head against his chest.

Getting his own breathing under control, he whispered soothingly into Spinelli's ear, "I've got you Spinelli, you're okay." His own neck and back protested his sudden movements and awkward position, but he sat that way until he felt Spinelli's body relax in his grip.

"Okay, I'm gonna let go of your arms and sit down," Jason's lips were pressed lightly against his roommate's ear. At Spinelli's slight nod, he eased out of his crouched position and leaned against the side of their lifeboat as he continued to support the young hacker's body with his own. "You okay?" Spinelli nodded.

"Stone Cold…"Spinelli's words caught on the dryness of his throat and he coughed. "What happened?" His lungs felt as they were burning and he gasped for air.

"You don't remember?" Jason asked in alarm.

Spinelli didn't think he could squeeze another word out so he chose do shake his head, regretting it almost immediately as his head was once again assaulted with a blinding pain. A groan slipped out before he could stop it and he felt something pressed to his lips.

"Here, drink this," Jason pressed the water bottle to Spinelli's lips and helped tilt his head back. He sighed in relief as the water was swallowed and then took a swig from the bottle himself, realizing how parched he was as well.

"You don't remember anything?" Jason kept his voice low.

Again, Spinelli shook his head and cracked one of his eyes open to see if his vision had decided to stop swimming in dizzying swirls. _Nope, no such luck there._ He drew in a hiss of breath at the pain that had started to thrum in his temple and wondered at the way his mentor seemed to tense behind him.

"Spinelli," Jason wasn't sure if he should relate all that had happened or let the young man rest some more and try to recover the memories on his own. _Had he even been fully awake as the night's events had unfolded?_

"Stone Cold?" Spinelli's voice was so soft Jason had to strain to hear it, "The Jackal would be most appreciative if he were to relate the events of the previous soiree. It seems that his inebriated or pummeled brain is unable to come up with a reasonable account other than coming face to face with a hammerhead shark or possibly drinking the captain under the table, though the latter is far too unlikely."

In spite of the direness of their situation, Jason couldn't stop the laugh before it came out. Spinelli felt the quaking of the chest he was propped up against and gave into his own weakened laughter.

Once their laughter subsided, Jason drew in a deep breath, unsure of how to put the previous night's events into words.

"We've been shipwrecked, haven't we?" Spinelli's words caught him off-guard. Spinelli managed to twist around so that his questioning green eyes were looking up into his, "This isn't some wild dream that my overactive imagination has concocted, is it? Jacques really is dead," unshed tears glittered in the green jeweled orbs, "I," Spinelli gulped, "the Jackal, really shot and killed a man." His voice quavered at the end and he looked away from Jason.

Unsure of what to say, Jason simply held the young man as he noiselessly cried. Resting his chin on Spinelli's head, he worked to loosen the kinks in the hacker's neck, massaging with fingers well adapted to the task. He'd done the same for Sam on numerous occasions and had been the recipient of stress-relieving massages as well.

Spinelli fell asleep as the sun grew higher in the sky. Jason drew out one of the tarps and used it to block the sun. It was hot, their bodies were slick with sweat and Jason was miserable, yet he had abandoned the idea of continuing to row.

The ocean was this vast never-ending entity content to keep them upon her belly whether he rowed or not. He and Spinelli were at her mercy and he prayed that she would be merciful and expel them upon dry, unmoving land soon.

* * *

Jason didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep until he was being jostled awake by the form sleeping on top of him. Disoriented and lost in a memory of Sam, his hands traveled along the length of the body, noting the smoothness of the skin. He brushed his lips lightly against the base of what he presumed to be Sam's neck and was summarily jolted from his state of half-sleep as a very masculine voice accosted his ears and his wandering hands were pushed away, "St…Stone Cold?"

Both men sat up abruptly, nearly banging heads in the process and Spinelli's hands fought with the tarp covering them. He moved hastily away from Jason, the resulting gap between them not large, but significant enough to allow the night air to raise goose bumps along Spinelli's naked torso as he looked at his mentor with a mixture of confusion and accusation.

"Spinelli?" Jason's voice was gruff. He was still caught up in the dream and was having difficulty understanding where his roommate fit in with all of it. _Wasn't it Sam's sleek form he had been previously meshed with? Was it not her whose lithe body he had been touching and groping? Surely it had been Sam's soft as silk skin and not Spinelli's which had caused his partial arousal. Right?_

"Stone Cold, the Jackal does not hold you responsible for your," Spinelli cleared his throat nervously, blushing in the waning sunlight, "no doubt dream inspired ministrations…" Spinelli attempted to back up even further but was stopped abruptly as his back met the edge of the lifeboat.

Realization of what had happened sunk in and Jason looked in mute horror at the young man who had inched as far away from him as was physically possible in the limited space of the life craft. Blanching, he looked down and attempted to regain some composure before he spoke.

"Spinelli," he began, not daring to meet the younger man's eyes, "I was dreaming…I," he stared resolutely at his hands, now clasped firmly in his lap, "I thought…Spinelli," he ventured a look over at the now shivering man who had lost his tee-shirt during their escape, "I'm sorry, I thought, I mean, I was dreaming about Sam…it just seemed so real…" he trailed off, not sure if his actions really could be excused and not sure if he could trust his wavering voice any longer.

The dream hadn't seemed like a dream at all. He could even hear Sam's laughter, smell her scent. Even now it seemed to linger in the air between them. His body had responded readily. It had been much too long since he'd had his needs met and he ached to return to the dream and follow it to its culmination. _If only it hadn't been a dream, if only it had been Sam he held in his arms. If only he and Spinelli were not stranded in the middle of the fucking ocean._

"It's okay," Spinelli's smile wavered as he held his arms around himself in an attempt to regain some of the warmth he had lost when he'd moved from beneath the tarp. He'd felt safe nestled against his mentor's chest and hadn't wanted to wake at all, but his stomach was starting to get queasy and thirst was calling to him. He also had to relieve himself.

* * *

He had tried to disentangle himself from Jason's hold without waking the man. His movements, however, seemed to make the man hold onto him even more and Spinelli had stilled, waiting a heartbeat before he moved again. Wordless moans reached his ears and Spinelli groaned in frustration as Jason's arms seemed reluctant to let him go.

When Jason's fingers first started trailing along his bicep and torso, Spinelli's breath caught in his throat and his heart hammered in his chest, the touch was bordering on sensual and Spinelli was becoming steadfastly embarrassed on his mentor's behalf as well as his own. Biting his bottom lip, he attempted to extricate himself as quickly as possible without waking the sleeping man, knowing that Jason would be more than a little disconcerted by his own dream initiated actions and hoping that whatever Jason was dreaming would not lead to anything other than a little unwanted touch.

When he felt hot lips pressed against the base of his neck in a decidedly unchaste kiss, he sprung into action, no longer caring if he woke the sleeping man or not. He knew that Jason would never forgive himself if things went a little further in his dream state and doubted he'd ever be able to look his mentor fully in the eye again if he allowed things to go much further.

It wasn't that he had been repulsed by Jason's actions; actually he couldn't really determine how he felt about what had happened at the moment, he just knew that he didn't blame the man for what he had inadvertently done. It hadn't been his fault. Spinelli knew that Jason had been dreaming, had heard the faint mention of Sam's name once or twice. No, if anyone was culpable, if anyone was to blame for the current uncomfortable state they found themselves in, it was he. He should have moved away from Jason the moment he had woken up, he should never have allowed things to progress as they had.

Tears of shame, self-blame, nausea, and simple exhaustion pricked the back of his eyes and Spinelli rested his head on his knees. His legs were drawn up and his arms hugged them to himself. He couldn't bear to look in his master's eyes, couldn't bear to see the anger and disgust that he was sure would be flickering in them.

* * *

Jason was devastated as Spinelli continued to backpedal away from him and seemed to close in on himself, wrapping his arms around his drawn knees. He hadn't meant to molest the young man who looked up to him and whom he admired more than he'd ever admit. He hadn't even been aware of his actions. Certain that Spinelli would never wish to look at him again and afraid at what he would see in those wide innocent green eyes if he did, Jason looked out at the ocean. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. _What the hell could he possibly say to undo what had been done? How would he ever regain the young man's trust and, more importantly, his friendship and unwavering loyalty? Had he forever lost the best friend he had?_

He didn't see how they would be able to get past this. He had violated his best friend, the boy who looked up to him and respected him. True, he hadn't acted willfully or with the intent to harm, but what had happened had happened and he couldn't erase it. He couldn't pretend that nothing had happened and doubted that Spinelli would be able to forgive so great a violation in spite of his penchant for forgiveness. He'd been amazed time and time again at his roommate's ability to forgive, at his innocence and his ability to put others above himself, even to his own hurt. But this, this was too much to forgive, even though he hadn't meant it and he hadn't been acting with awareness. No, asking Spinelli to forgive so great a crime, as unintentional as it was, was too much.

His heart clenched painfully as he once more regarded the young man huddled on the opposite side of the boat. Shivers wracked the smaller frame and Jason's heart lurched with concern. Suddenly, Spinelli released his hold on his knees and Jason watched in mounting worry as Spinelli knelt next to the edge of the boat.

Jason launched himself to Spinelli's side in a split second as the young man leaned over the edge of the life craft. "No, Spinelli!" Jason caught the edge of the younger man's sweatpants fearful that he was going to jump into the inky waves of the ocean.

Terrified that Spinelli was going to be lost to him forever because of his stupid dream and subsequent actions, he clung to the hacker's waist imploring him not to jump into the ocean, "I'm sorry, I promise it won't happen again, I didn't mean to do it. Just please don't jump."

* * *

Spinelli's stomach churned and roiled and he felt a telltale pull at his navel indicating that it was going to rebel and expel the meager contents that it held. No longer thinking of anything other than not sicking up on himself or in their temporary habitat, he leaned over the edge of the life boat just in time for his stomach to issue its first abortive assault.

Vaguely aware that Jason was holding him, anchoring him to the boat, he groaned in pain as he continued to retch into the oblivious, dauntless ocean. He didn't register his master's plaintive words as his stomach continued its seemingly ceaseless clenching and emptying.

When the nausea abated, he rested his head against the edge of the boat, having no strength to move further into the safety of it. He sat there panting, unable to lift his head, unaware of anything save for the incessant, dizzying, nauseating movement of the ocean as its devilish minions lifted and dropped their life boat at irregular intervals.

Realizing that Spinelli's intention was not to toss himself headlong into the ocean, Jason held onto the young man as he retched over the edge of the lifeboat, wishing that he could've had the foresight to bring along the white pills Jacques had gifted Spinelli with. He chastised himself for thinking that Spinelli would have been foolish enough to jump into the ocean. Relief coursed through him even as a new dread fell upon him. Spinelli leaned over the edge once more and Jason doubted if there was anything left that could be brought up to expel and yet Spinelli continued to heave into the boundless ocean.

* * *

The waves swallowed his bile hungrily and danced around the edge of his vision, greedily asking for more. He couldn't help the sob that was torn from him as he continued to give the ocean what it sought of him, his very essence and being poured out into its unlimited depths. And still, it asked for more. Spinelli didn't think he had enough to satiate its endless hunger. Would it remain unsatisfied until he forfeited his life? Would it then turn its eager, ravenous eye on Jason? No, he would not let the voracious beast claim him. He'd pit himself between the beast and her lilting puppets if it was the last thing he ever did.

Darkness stole his vision and Spinelli sank blissfully into it, no longer able to hold back the ocean, he joined her in her all-consuming depths. The painful attack on his stomach ceased along with all thought.

"Spinelli," Jason dribbled water into the younger man's slightly opened mouth and coaxed it down his throat, running his thumb along it to ensure that it reached its destination, hoping that it would not merely be spit out or regurgitated as had happened countless times before throughout the night.

When Spinelli had suddenly gone slack in his arms, he'd hauled him back into the boat and tried to wake him. He found a pulse and sighed in relief as he watched the young man's chest rise and fall. He sat by his side, administering water, knowing that he would need to be rehydrated. Ignoring his own needs, he silently pled for Spinelli to wake and drank only when his parched throat demanded it. He needed to be there for Spinelli. Had to save the man who had always been there for him. Had to apologize to him for what he'd done.

Night bled into day and Jason hovered over the too still form of Spinelli. As the day waned on Spinelli awoke only to regurgitate the small amount of water Jason had managed to force into his system. Knowing there was little he could do to combat the seasickness, Jason resolved to make Spinelli as comfortable as possible.

He arranged himself into a comfortable seated position at the bottom of the life boat and placed Spinelli's head in his lap and did his best to shield him from the sun. He continued to administer water to both Spinelli and himself throughout the relentless day as the sun beat down on them and offered as much warmth as he could during the much too cold night.

Another day dawned and Jason's eyes were drawn to the horizon, knowing that if they did not reach land soon, Spinelli wouldn't make it and he would follow soon after.

* * *


End file.
